The Sands of Time
by theheartsbeat
Summary: Ferocious winds blow from the west, and with it comes the threat of war. A Sheikah girl tries to erase her past and pursue the future,but danger lurks in the shadows. The Prince of the Desert struggles to uphold his title and obligations, but the promise of power calls to him. How will these two meet, and how does their meeting affect their people? Hyrule? The whole stream of time?


The Sands of Time

Chapter One: The Wind From the West

"The sands of time are sinking, the dawn of Heaven breaks;  
The summer morn I've sighed for—the fair, sweet morn awakes:  
Dark, dark hath been the midnight, but dayspring is at hand,  
And glory, glory dwelleth in Immanuel's land."

* * *

The wind tears relentlessly, the smell of dust and hot earth filling up my nose. Sand blurs my vision, tears that well in it trying to wash away the granules, the sound of the tempest echoing in my skull. My arms fight to cover my face from the onslaught of dry wind that carries swells of tiny shards of rock, which, despite my efforts, cut into my skin and ravage my flesh with lacerations. Every inch of my skin burns from the arid atmosphere I travel through, my mouth parched and tongue stale as old bread. My cloak did little to stop the pounds of dust that caught in the folds of my clothes, weighing me down, sinking me lower and lower into the seas of sand.

I know I will never make it to my destination, out of the heart of the desert, and the water filming my eyes now come from my desperation and broken hope. They flood down my face, but would never sink into the fabric of my cloak. The wind blows them away, the torrents of wind that harasses me not even allowing me to drown in my own tears.

I wonder how I got here, lost in the desolate dunes, searching for a way out. What led me here in the first place? Have I always been here, in a way? Always lost, burdened with weight of determination, never given the freedom to let my tears shine on my face? Who was I before this? What did I stand for? What purpose did I live for?

My legs stall, my knees buckling, sending me into the sinking sand. I do not fight it, I let myself envelope into its grasp. The hot sand pours into my nose, draining into my mouth. It soaks away the tears from my eyes, soft as a dove's feather gliding over my skin.

For once, comfort given to me, in the last moments of my life. I try to conjure up images of loving smiles, of soft touches, of a delicate word. But none came. I'm left to die with a hollow feeling burrowing deeper into my chest, a parasite that gnaws closer and closer to my heart.

As the sun begins to disappear from my half-lidded eyes, I reach up, letting my white hands bask in its brilliance. My translucent skin shone red from the blood that pulses in my veins, and the sweet yellow light of the orb burns past the tormenting wind of the desert, offering me one bit of contentment before I was swallowed whole. I reach, I stretch as far as I can further up, grasping and wishing for one moment more to live in the sun. Despite my efforts, I slowly surge deeper into the dunes, thrown into the familiar sensation of everlasting darkness.

_Shadows and sand... for once, they coexist._

* * *

My reality is not much different from my dream.

It's hot, I thirst for water, my eyes blink away the liquid that cascades over my eyes, spilling down my cheeks and soaking into the front of tunic. Humid air clogs my lungs, making it difficult to breathe, but I manage to keep it steady. The sun beats down on me; it shows no remorse.

But the visions from my sleep and reality are set apart by a grand thing: I have a fighting chance here. I control what happens, by my actions, my words, my bravery and courage. I am a warrior, and though still young, I know what my duty is. I will not give up like my unconscious self did. _I fight here. I live._

My hands wrap tightly around the hilt of my weapon, a broadsword, and my knuckles whiten. Aged bruises mingle with fresh ones; blue swirling with yellow, green dots the purple. My whole body is covered with them, scars marking it as well.

The cotton shirt underneath my tunic is drenched with sweat, perspiration drips from my hairline and mats the dark hair on my temples. Mud stains my tunic, hot and fresh blood blotching it as well. The fresh blood comes from the split in my bottom lip, the crimson liquid trickling down my chin and to the front of the tunic. I ignore the sting of the wound.

Instead, I pay close, precise attention to my enemy who is stone-still in front of me, it's narrowed eyes reflecting back the same concentration. They stand tall and undeterred by my earlier banters and hits, no sign of them being remotely exhausted. Their fierce mask holds the expression that can only be read as _Oh? Ready to give up?, _but I refrain from answering.

I tilt my head, mocking. "Make your move."

As soon as the words leave my mouth, their form disappears, a blur of grey. I almost laugh at their feeble attempt to fool me, but I know better. A warrior does not laugh at the face of possible victory, especially when the chance of defeat lingers.

I do as everyone does all of their life: I see and I hear. But only I do as I have been taught to do: I _observe _and I _listen. _

Cicadas sing in the trees, butterfly wings cut the air, caterpillars munch on the lush leaves the trees bear, field mice scurry in the shade. I force my ears to listen beyond that, where I could hear outside of the arena. I hear the reapers in the field harvest wheat, the swish of their blades as they cut through the stalks. I hear the neighing of horses, the gentle yelp of playing pups. Winds rustles the shadowed the ivy that cling to the white wall.

That is where I should concentrate. _The shadows. _

My legs fail to remain still, my appendages shaking, arms quaking from the weight of the sword in my grasp. I keep everything together, knowing the end of this battle is nearing. Closing my eyes, I press my ears to hear what skims the shadows of the stone wall, its towering height giving tall banks of shade. At first, there is nothing. Grass snakes slip over dewy plants, frogs croak in the puddles that formed from the rain last night. There is no sound of human footsteps, of breathing, of anything to give my rival's position away. I puzzle over this, but tug at my integrity. Just a bit longer, and they will reveal themselves.

I wait just ten seconds more before the light noise of a twig snapping courses over my ears.

_Time to end this._

Sprinting toward the source of the sound, which came from my left, I brandish my sword and see their shadowed form in the darkness the wall gives, their eyes cutting through the grey. They see me, and dart forward, meaning to meet me. I oblige, swinging my sword even with their throat, only catching the edge of their blade.

Now, it's a battle of strength. I command my muscles to push back the opposing force, trying to create an opening to win this fight. A low hiss escapes the pallid mouth of my challenger, specks of spit hitting my face. I dare not flinch.

I am the one to pull back, surprising my enemy, sending them back a few feet. I give a smirk at the opportunity. I run as fast as I can with sore legs, and swing my sword again, releasing a cry as I do. They dodge, I land on the ground in a cloud of dust. They approach before I can regain my footing, so I roll quickly before they attempt another stab at me. The blade of their sword sticks in the damp earth. My heart pounds furiously in my chest.

As they try to retrieve their sword from its place in the earth, I stand, the sun almost blinding.

_It's over._

I walk the few feet that lay between us, my aching bones screaming for rest. Gripping my sword's hilt tight and raising it, I place it over the wrists of my enemy who strains to pull the blade of the weapon from the dirt.

As my opponent's eyes gaze into mine with clear signs of defeat, I let my sigh release. "Game over," I say smoothly, indicating to the position of my blade over the vulnerable part of their hands.

Those dark eyes release their steely gaze and their pale brow relaxes. "So it seems."

A silent moment passes before I offer a hand to my opponent, my Aunt Impa, and she grips it tight, hoisting herself up, an audible groan coming from her creaking limbs. She straightens up and gives a warm smile. It was odd for me to see her with this kind of smile; I'm so used to her with a battle-ready expression, especially when we were training.

She reaches forward and cups my chin with her clammy palm, her deep exhales blowing across my face as she examines my wounded lip. She gives an apologetic look, but does not voice her pardons.

"You did well today. Go clean yourself up."

I nod and bow, a gesture I did every day after we finish with our training. She waves me away, and I dash off, towards our house.

The house is small and tight, but a home nonetheless. It lays close to the stone-walled arena that I train in with Aunt Impa, perching atop of a grassy knoll. The view is impeccable, the fields filled with wheat, swaying in the passing breeze, dense forests lying on either side of the view.

But the best of part of looking at it all: Hyrule Castle.

It lies in the west, at least five miles away, glimmering like a shined opal, scarlet flags stark against the white. I can see the oak drawbridge from here, the sparkling waters in the moat. The window's glass stained, bright colors of princely violet and rich green demanding your attention and paint scenes of kings being crowned, of princesses riding snowy horses.

I've only been in its halls once; as an infant. I was only a week old, a babe swaddled in rags, starving and mewling in Aunt Impa's arms. I want to recall the memories, to relish a fragment of pristine rugs and silk robes. It must be beautiful in there.

I snap back to reality then, my mouth pressing into a thin line. Pause only a moment, I gaze out into Hyrule Castle's personal wheat fields, full of servants harvesting grain. They sing as they work, happy as they labor for their king. I've met very few of them, the ones that sent provisions to the house and cared not to step a foot in.

_Although we all faithfully fulfill the tasks given to us to please our King, they treat us as you would criminals. No better than dogs. _

I am part of a dwindling race; the Sheikah. We are known as the Shadow Clan, remarked for our skills as warriors, as guardians of very ancient knowledge and magic. That's what sets us apart. They fear us for our power and our past. We are nothing to them, nothing but a looming shadow. But that is why I marvel at the kindness of Hyrule's King. He bade us to come into his halls when we had nothing left, to give us food and a home if we pledged fealty to him, to protect him with every ounce of our power. I've seen him a handful of times, each time looking more and more kindly and gracious. He was too be married soon, to a lady from a far-away place.

I turn from the scene, ridding my mind of trifle court gossip. My King may do whatever he deems fit. It does not concern me. All that matters is that I uphold my oath to him. I must see him safe.

I stride up to the wooden door on the cottage, pulling the latch open and stepping inside the cool room.

The low-ceiling room I enter was the kitchen, the fireplace that greeted me devoid of flame, though I am sure it would be lit tonight, the whispers of frost coming from the servants. I place my wooden sword I use in training down to lean against the table, and I fill a mug with water from the pitcher, a single draught leading me to refill it. After my fourth glass, I dash up the stairs to my room.

I pull off my tunic and undershirt, leaving only the linen wrappings that binds my small chest. It feels good to be free of the dirty clothes heavy with sweat. I walk over to my dresser and dip a clean rag into the washbowl resting there. I spend a few minutes washing my dirty, bloody face, the water in the porcelain basin turning murky brown. Afterwards, I tug on a fresh tunic over my bruised body.

I knew I couldn't sit idly in my room without my thoughts returning to the world outside, full of light and sunshine. I go downstairs, tear a hunk of rye bread from the loaf that sat on the cutting board and retreat outside.

The sun still broils high in the sky, but the shadows grow longer with the reign of night coming swiftly.

Sitting on the lone stool outside of the doorway, where my Father loves to perch and whittle wood into animals, I pick at my bread and reflect quietly.

I had spent sixteen years of my life here, I realize, and have never went beyond the walls of Castle Town. But my Father and my Aunt, however, leave frequently to carry out tasks given by the King. I've stayed here with either Aunt Impa or my Father, Troezen, while the other was gone. They were usually gone for weeks on end, sometimes months. For example, my Father has been away for four and a half weeks, off to the bidding of the King. He told me a fragment of what his mission entailed; he was hunting down a thief that has caused trouble for many years, but remained just a nuisance. That is, until a month ago, he murdered a whole caravan with his band of followers in the Southern Field. The King quickly sent my Father after him upon hearing the news.

I never know when they will return, but I take comfort in the thought that my Father and my Aunt are aiding the King in his quest to make Hyrule a safe and guarded land.

Suddenly, the sounds of pipe-playing hits my ears, and my eyes comb over the golden fields that stretch before me. At the bottom of the hill, lying in a heap of hay, is a boy just a bit younger than me with a pipe pressing his lips, his quick, nimble hands moving it and creating sharp but mellifluous notes. I smile at the quaint sound.

I was only knowledgeable in playing the harp, specifically the one my Father kept in the sitting room of our house. It was a mystical thing, hearing the golden cords being plucked. There was a something in it that resonated so deeply into me.

Leaning against the stone wall of the house, I bask in the light of evening.

The roar of horse hooves pounding the earth rouses me from my peace.

A lone rider approaches the cottage, ascending the hill at lightening speed. The boy at the bottom turns to see, surprised as well. I squint my eyes against the sun to get a better look at the approaching visitor. All I could make out was the shimmer of the dark hide of a massive steed.

It was when the rider rode up yards away from me, the rider quickly dismounting, that I know who it is.

"Father!" I shout, rising from the stool and discarding what I had left of the bread. I run to him, his leather-bound arms extending for my slim body to fit into.

We connect hard, and I couldn't stop the furious pacing of my heart. I never know when I see him or Aunt Impa again._ This is the price of protecting the Royal Family_.

"Intra," I hear him say, though it sounds urgent rather intended to be a greeting.

I pull back and examine his pale face; his maroon irises, serious eyebrows, long, sweeping white hair, hawk-like nose, thin lips with the silver scar running down the left corner of it, and knife-sharp cheekbones. He was handsome, as usual. Too bad he didn't pass the good looks onto me. My sights find his armored torso, bright red blood staining it.

I gaze back up to see the strain in his eyes, the furrow in his brow. I grip his shoulders in nervousness. "What is wrong?"

He takes a long moment, his eyes flickering behind me. I hear footsteps behind us. I know they are Aunt Impa's. "The King has requested Intra and I's presence," Father says to her. "We must go quickly. The messengers deemed it urgent."

"Then go," Aunt Impa says, ushering us back to Father's horse, Realm. My Father mounts first, offering a hand to aid me to climb on. I take it and stuff my foot in the stirrup, swinging my leg over the saddle. I weave my arms around his middle.

Aunt Impa is not given a chance to say goodbye before my Father shouts the command for Realm to go, the mare storming off down the knoll. The wind tears by us, and it pricks at my eyes. I dare not close them. The castle draws closer, and my heart will not calm.

The journey does not take long. Realm is young with powerful legs, its only mere minutes before her iron-shod hooves hit the cobblestones of the castle's stalls. The air is thick with the smell of fresh hay, I sneeze a few times. Father's feet hit the ground before we truly pause, and his strong hands are on my waist, helping me off as stable hands come forward to take Realm.

Father leads the way, and I wonder how many times he has walked this path before. He ushers me into a simple doorway that is met by spiraling stairs, which we quickly ascend. We breeze down hallways and pass many doors, and I silently ask where which one leads. Libraries? Kitchens? Dungeons?

After was seems like forever, Father leads me into a huge room, a central of all paths through the castle it seems. Four flights of stairs lead in different directions, but it seems that they lead to only two, seeing as two cases slope up and meet. In the center of the hall, a fountain sits, bubbling water echoing in the vast room, into the rafters that I cannot see. The floor is white marble, black veins running through it. Gold leafing covers the patterns of vines on the wood railings of the stairs, blood-red rugs gracing the paths.

I marvel at it all.

Two women come up to us. I hear their whispers before I see them.

_"Oh... goodness. How improper! A lady wearing trousers!"_

_"Ghastly!" _

My back straightens and my fists knot up. This is not the first time I have heard of how 'heinous' and 'disgraceful' I am for what I wore. _I am a warrior, not a snot-nosed lady_, I wish to say, but knowing that Father would likely rip my tongue off for doing so, even if he has heard them too. He can do nothing to make them understand.

But I was true. My hair was long and not fashionable, it was layered and looked wild with my natural waves, I wore men's clothing, but I was not about to submit to vanity over strength. I was not raised that way.

I smile, trying to seem pleasant, when the women draw closer. They look cautious, as if we are going to bite or attack. I think that's wise of them.

"Ah, Troezen of the Sheikah. We've been waiting for you." The woman then indicates to me with her pale and dainty hand. She's blonde-headed and wearing a stately blue gown, pearls dotting the hem and collar. The tops of her sleeves are bigger than my head. "This must be your daughter. How lovely she is, Master Troezen. Intra, isn't it? That's a beautiful name for one such as yourself."

_If by beautiful you mean odd... yes, I suppose you are correct. _

"Yes, it is Intra, m'lady. Thank you for your gracious words," I say as sincerely as I can, placing my hand over my heart, trying to act humbled.

Both women seem shocked but quickly recover. The other, a dark-haired lady with round cheeks that are colored like roses and a dress to match, a lace fan fluttering in her hands, stumbles over her next words. "The King requested an audience with you, did he not?"

My Father takes a step forward, seeming eager. "Indeed, he did. It is undoubtedly important. Will you lead?"

Again, their expressions look stunned. The blonde woman knits her brow, her eyes finding me. "Oh, sir! You must be abashed if you would believe the King would take up audience with a lady dressed as herself! And you, Master Sheikah, _are covered in blood_! Both of you are ill-outfitted to stand in his courts!"

The last word hands in the air like a sword over an exposed neck, and I feel it coming down as my face grows warm with embarrassment and anger, and I will myself to pry my mouth open to reply. My pride is hurt. I cannot let this slide.

Father senses I am about to make a fool of myself and holds up a hand to quiet me. I slam my jaw shut before I say something I _won't_ regret, but ultimately feel shame for by bruising Father's reputation.

Deathly silence falls over the four of us as Father turns his attention back to the women, the blonde flushed in the face from her outburst.

"Lady Quille, I am in no position to include myself in court fashion or pleasantries. If you wish for us to powder our noses, I suggest it is _not _when I have come back from battling thieves and have just slain the master behind the kidnappings that have plagued Hyrule. I suggest that you take up your sword and shield to protect my life of luxury. I suggest you lead us to the King presently before you insult my loyalty further," Father says in his low voice, the same tone he used when I was five and refused to train one day. I get shivers down my spine.

Lady Quille pales, as does the dark-haired woman as she fans her face faster. I hope she faints.

Finally, after the tense moment, the tall blonde woman gathers her skirts into flawless cream-tinted hands and turns. "Very well."

I release my pent-up breath and unclench my tense fists.

After we start after the women, Father grasps my hand for a short time and squeezes it. He feels bad for guilting them into letting us through, but I understand. He lets my hand go.

We are led up a massive flight of stairs, the carpet underneath our feet sinking in a bit, it's so plush. On the top of the flight, a grand arch composed of marble and jade leads into another room.

My eyes linger on the arch. Scenes depicting the creation of Hyrule are carved into it. Stone images Din, Nayru, and Farore dance on the surface, creatures they had molded from their souls circling them, rays of light cascading from them. I am awed at the craftsmanship.

When I peel my sights away from marvelous marble arch, I direct my eyes onto an even more spectacular sight.

Before me, swimming in the golden sunlight of evening that poured from the window high above, laid the throne of the King of Hyrule, His Majesty posed regally; hands curving the ends of the armrest, dark green robes pooling at his feet. A crown of gold graced his head, stones the color of red and sky blue embedding the ring of yellow. His hair was shoulder-length and pale brown, halcyon streaking through it. A gentle, but wary smile is etched onto his welcoming face.

We near the end of the room, and the women step aside, standing at the end of the line of people sheath the way to the throne, all eyes on us. I try not to pay any attention, but it was difficult. I manage to keep my sights ahead as I feel their stares bear into my skin. These are the lords and ladies that stay in Hyrule Castle as advisers and run lesser matters. I know none of their names. I do not care.

Father stops feet away from the throne of Hyrule. He takes a knee. I follow suit, not knowing what to do. I hear snickers behind me. The King silently raises his hand, rings of silver and white gold outfitting his slim fingers. The laughter ceases. His keen blue eyes turn back to our kneeling forms. I feel incredibly small.

"Troezen, it must have been in the in the Goddesses' good will that you would return home safe to your daughter and sister-in-law. I certainly pray to them for more successful missions. So, tell me..." The King leans forward from his stately chair, and I can make out the faint wrinkles that have appeared from excessive smiling and laughing. "How loud did the all mighty Thirin the Larcenist scream when you appeared? Did he cry for his mother? Did he beg Nayru to show compassion for his soul? Tell me all, Master Sheikah, of his demise."

My Father opens his mouth to speak, an unsure tone coursing the words. "Your Grace, if I may ask... before I begin my tale, what is the meaning of you calling me forth? As well as my daughter?"

After a tense silent moment, The King reclines back, his lips puckering. "I suppose the tales can wait for now," he says, almost in a grumble. "I've called you here to give you and your daughter a great task. You remember my betrothed, yes?"

Father nods quickly, keeping his maroon eyes on the King. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"We are to be wed two months from now, on the day we celebrate the finalization of the harvest," The King announces, his booming voice a tone you wouldn't expect from a timid-looking man. He sounds proud. Perhaps a bit too proud. "She hails from a neighboring kingdom, as you know. I sent her and her wedding party the finest of ships, and I've received word that she will be arriving three days from now, entering Hyrule from the banks of Lake Hylia."

The King leans in then, his sharp blue eyes solid on Father and I's faces. "Troezen, you know of the threats that have been made on my well-being. I know this is because of my being King. I take charge and will face these terrors happily for the sake of my kingdom. But this past month alone..." He grits his teeth together, the corner of his lips curling in a sneer. "_Thirty-seven_ written and oral claims to take my life have been reported. One attempted. But now... _now _they have turned to my betrothed. This morning I have received news of a band of criminals planning to kidnap the expecting Queen and hold ransom that amount to twenty million rupees."

I don't let out my gasp, but my eyes widen. This was insane. Who would dare to do such a thing?

The King continues, "I was hoping that in disposing Thirin, the dastardly mind behind the disappearance of a large amount of valuables and multiple kidnappings, I would drive home the message that I..._ am one you do not trifle with."_

His last words hiss through his white teeth, his low voice causing tingles to claw up my spine. It was terrifying to see this King this way: menacing and cold. I was familiar with the sight of the untouchable man riding a stately white horse through Castle Town, brilliant robes catching the sunlight, crown glimmering. He would look proud, but demure which made him look all the more regal. But now he sat with a rigid pose, blood-depraved fingers gripping the sloping ends of his armrests.

_As fierce as a mad dog. _

His eyes cut to mine. Azure on blood-red. I'm sure he can see the fear in them. He relaxes, though his countenance is still arrayed with anger and malice.

"But it seems my point has not been clear. I have called you forth to give you your new assignment: you are to leave Hyrule Castle, travel to Lake Hylia, where you will meet the future Queen of Hyrule. You are to protect her with your life, value her's as my own. You are to leave immediately at dawn tomorrow and arrive back here six days from now. This is my will, Troezen, and I expect you to follow it so," The King finishes, leaning back into his chair. "And I bid you to bring your daughter as well. If her Aunt tells true, your daughter as been very diligent in her training and studies. I trust she has been counciled by the two of you well enough to hold your own against a few ruffians."

An unexpected smile crosses my face. My first mission! I would finally go beyond Castle Town's walls and see all of Hyrule, meet new people, fight monsters, feel freedom! This was much more than I could have hoped from my King. He thought I was truly ready to defend his country.

I glance to furrow in Father's pale brows gives me an inclination that he disagrees with the King's wishes, and that arouses a pain in my gut. He doesn't think I'm ready. My eyes flicker back to His Majesty. Although Father may think I'm not prepared, he is not convinced enough to speak against the man he has sworn fealty to. I sigh in relief.

"My Lord, if I may express freely," Father says so quietly, it's almost a whisper.

My breathing hitches. There goes my chance.

The King gives a haughty laugh. It echoes throughout the room and further still. My eyes widen in curiosity and surprise. "Troezen, I know exactly what you wish to say. But there is nothing to discuss, my friend!", he says in-between chuckles. He calms himself before continuing. "Instead of my interests ruling the details of this mission, I give full rule of who joins the welcome party to you. You may decide if your daughter joins or not."

My heart sinks at his words and I fight back the angry tears. At this pace, I'll never see Hyrule until I'm thirty. _Maybe it's for the best_, I think.

"But... Another thing, Troezen. Ask your daughter what she believes is true. I know you wish for her safety, but also prepare to enter my service, but the best way to do so is to take her feelings into account. I truly conceive this mission is the one that will give many more lessons than any history recount or pseudo-sword fight will provide," The King glances my way, a wide smile on his lips. "I digress, Master Sheikah. If you do not see her fit enough to travel with you, leave her here as you have many times before."

My Father says not a word and is staring ahead blankly when I look up at him. My gut wrenches and my nerves are afire.

"As you will, I will do," my Father says seamlessly, standing and bowing and fuming off before I can comprehend his departure myself.

I bow to the King, my hands locking onto the hem of my tunic. "Thank you, Your Grace."

He grins and waves a slim hand towards the exit, the thick gold ropes hanging from his neck clinking. He pardons me.

I leave the room, trailing behind Father, and I hear the whispers of stewards and lords and ladies that bounce between the four marble walls of the throne room., but I do not listen. All of their pointless words fall on deaf ears.

The whole way back to the stables outside, the air between Father and I unstirred as a grave. My hands that are drawn up into fists shake from anxiousness, my bottom lip begins oozing blood from my unconscious chewing.

While I hope that he allows me accompany him on his mission, I do so in hopes that he believes I'm capable of it, not because his King bade him to. My brain struggles between wanting to go in the name of proving my courage, or staying behind to display my wisdom in putting the mission in danger.

The ride back to the house is also quiet, save the howls of hounds in the woods and the pounding of Realm's hooves. When we arrive home, I dismount the massive steed with expectations of Father stopping me and telling me his decision, but he does not. He marches into the house without a word.

I refrain from following him inside, and instead turn from the house and face east, the shroud of black that approaches dominating the remaining rays of the setting sun. I love the night. Perhaps because I was a part of the Shadow Clan and we were born into darkness. Maybe because you could only see the glimmering stars during the night, in a world of velvet-black. _A light in the dark._

As I sigh, the air I exhale comes out a plume of white mist. I hadn't noticed how cold it had gotten, nor how late it had become.

I shiver as an icy wind cuts across the field and up the knoll, the remaining wheat bowing to it. The wind reminds me of my dream. Although cold instead of arid and devoid of sand, it holds the same dreadful and frightening omen: change was coming. Perhaps it wasn't death that waited for me at the end of this path, but I suddenly feared it was something far more greater. Terrifying. Blood-chilling. And nothing could prepare me for it.

I give another shiver and clamp my jaw down to keep my teeth from clattering. I grip the end of tunic, grapple at the loose threads and pull aimlessly; lost and scared like a pup. I had no right to stay here unless I held my own. I couldn't depend on my Aunt and Father anymore. It was shameful, embarrassing.

_ My Father should trust me to come with him_, I spit internally.

...But what if he was right in my jeopardizing the mission?

_No._ He doesn't know, he is no prophet.

But the King was right. All the training I have received from my Father and my Aunt had done little to prepare me for the outside world. I should ask Father_— _no, _plead_ him_— _to let me come. A storm was drifting in, and it would not wait for idle girls and green warriors. It would rip the sapling from the earth and tear the wings from the dove; it would spray the ashes of destruction over the land and the moan of the dead will echo throughout all of Hyrule.

It is night now, and the dawn is a long way away. The gust is fiercer, howling like a wounded wolfos. A sliver of white graces the sky, little light being shed on my shivering form. Glancing behind me, I see smoke rising from the brick chimney and into the sky, whisked off by the ferocious wind. My bones rattle and my eyes blink away tears.

_This wind came from the west_, I think, and in the same heartbeat, my soul rings out: _T__hough I try to repress it, I know I will die in the sinking sands of time... unless I fight_.

* * *

_A lone goddess stood on a cliff that overlooked the whole forest, her eyes narrowed at the disgusting shape of the monster that towered over ancient trees and swallowed the horizon. Her sword dripped with black blood, currents of bright blue electricity coursed through the blade. Despite the rage and anger she should lash out against this defiled creature, a smile crept upon her blood-stained lips. Her eyes rose to the sky, along with her sword. A howling wind blew as she did, a scream cut through the night. A vortex of dark clouds spilled from the tip of the weapon, rising to the red moon. Thunder roared and clashed and lightning danced. The earth split and cracked, rocks jutted out, fissures as wide as oceans opened up. Out of the wounds of the ground came darkness, corruption, death._

_And out came evil._

_A mass of destruction and filth twisted and writhed its way into the sky, dark clouds silhouetting its terrifying form, the true source of evil. So many horrifying beings were amassed into this one creature, its cries and howls pierced the night. Bleached skeletons and flesh dripped from it, plunging to the earth like fallen stars._

"My reign has come," _the goddess sneered. Her voice was deep and gravely, raw from screaming. But a new accent was laid underneath it; the voice of a monster._

_A tear raced down to her jaw, her eyes wide with a strange emotion. "May the Goddesses watch over us."_


End file.
